Bang Gang

I have nothing against explicit sex in movies when it has a function to make the story stronger and leave a deeper impression. Of course, I like good porn too. But when a movie that is not porn is based on two hours of sex and nudity while there's no relevant story, that is simply a crappy movie. Neither it tells a good story, nor shows good sex. I want my two hours back.

4/10

It's so hard to give an 8 to a movie with an average of 5 and a metascore of 50, but I guess sometimes you have to go with your gut feeling. I'm thinking about 'Bang Gang', the story we would only find in a young adult book that was written in six months time, but after a first view has proven to be a decent study of character and of the consequences of group dynamics. The effects of sex outside relationships are shown, but one may raise the question: Is the idea of this free sex without bonding explicitly rejected? Not really. You simply decide for yourself what moral lesson is to be learned. Because even though everyone ends up with diseases, there is also stress on the fun of experimenting for as long as it lasts. Unlike other movies, in this film the viewer can determine what is right or wrong.

Most of all, it's a movie that shows what many adolescents would like to experience, but are afraid of at the same time. What if you have sex with just 'anyone'? Can you still really show your love to the person you love, who has been faithful to only giving his or her body to an actual soulmate? This movie surely shows what it's like, both in a positive and in a negative way. Watch the movie with a free mind and think of the fantasies you had as a 16 year old. I know that my own shy and slender self would have thought it eye-opening to look into this adventurous world for 90 minutes, without any consequences.

About immature teenagers doing drugs, smoking weed and having sex with no concerns about the consequences. #Terrible

As a teenager, there are many depictions of teenage sexuality that I find have followed their own successful formula for so long that they fail to depict modern adolescent sexuality accurately. Bang Gang is indeed, as it is billed as, a "modern love story". In particular, the impact of social media on the psyches and voyeuristic attitudes of my generation are perfectly encompassed. Within director Eva Husson's spectacle, there are familiar themes: the need to be wanted, to be set apart from the herd, the loneliness that comes with attaining your fantasies and finding that they are not enough (read: the scene in which Alex, high on vice, stumbles completely naked out to the pool-where teenagers are copulating and filming it all on camera for online distribution-and plunges in, attempting to shut everything out). As a teenager, there was always a certain orgiastic essence to house parties, people sneaking off to bathrooms and guest bedrooms to hook up, spin the bottle and escalating dares, so that the possibilities of such an event happening, as it did in real life, do not seem far-fetched. The imagery and cinematography of the movie is spectacular. The control of light and palette is exquisite, so that a normally vulgar tableau-consider Harmony Korine's "Kids", all grit and no softness-is rendered soft and ambient. There are some shots that could come straight out of a pre-Raphaelite painting. And maybe that's what's so beautiful about this movie; youth isn't some dispensable, ephemeral quantity of life, regardless of its course, youth does guide our lives, and teaches us that to be happy, you have to risk being hurt.

Only the French can make a movie entirely about sex this aimless, pointless, thoughtless, pretentious, and boring. The metaphors were crude, obvious, and unimaginative. The "conclusions" were like something one finds on a milk carton, a cigarette pack, or a fifteen-second commercial message from the local public health office. The writer couldn't be bothered to do elementary research so used creative giants like Van Gogh and Nietzsche as throwaway figures who "died of syphilis," showing a level of arrogance, entitlement, and hubris that makes silly American kids in their flicks look positively dutiful, mature, stoical, and heroic by comparison. Van Gogh died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the belly, not syphilis. There is no evidence that Nietzsche ever had sex, period, a level of loneliness so heartbreaking it underscores my conviction that the writer of this trash, standing on tiptoe, couldn't reach the bottom of either man's boot.